


Sins of the Fathers

by KannaOphelia



Category: Original Work, Regency Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Being Overcome By Passion, Clothed Sex, Deliberately Ruining Yourself for Fun and Profit, Happy Ending, Hate Sex with Feelings, It's all quite romantic really, Kissing, Library Sex, M/M, Oh No! A Wild Rake Appeared, Oral Sex, Possible humiliation kink, Prude on the Streets Freak in the Sheets, Rake Decides to Ruin Brother Instead of Sister, Regency Romance, Rimming, Sneaking away from a fancy ball to have mostly-clothed sex on the premises, The inherent eroticism of cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: When Lord Henry Acton's attempt at revenge by seduction fails, he runs into an unexpected alternative. Theodosia's twin Theophile is prudish, infuriating, and with a possible attraction to men.Henry has no idea what he is getting himself into.
Relationships: Rake/The Brother of the Girl He Should be Seducing
Comments: 26
Kudos: 129
Collections: The Prince Regent's Birthday Regency/Victorian Flash Exchange





	Sins of the Fathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



The music and chatter of the ball were practically eliminated by the library door closing behind them. Miss Theodosia Yeatman, apple-cheeked and tawny skinned, like a newly plucked pear, clasped her fan and looked trustingly at Henry. She was so lovely, so naive that he felt a flicker of guilt. It was not that he was a saint; far from it. Wine and women and gambling were his stock in trade, and he had plenty of wild oats to sew. But he favoured older women, women who knew what they were doing and enjoyed the risks, and Theodosia was his own age. He'd been to school with her twin. He _liked_ her.

Her gown sparkled with silver tinsel embroidery, the diadem shone in her black hair, round stones glittered on her bosom. Bought with his family's money. Henry hardened his heart. After all, the sins of the fathers were visited on the children. That was the way of things and always had been.

"At last," he said, and reached out to clasp Theodosia in his arms.

Her fan rapped hard on his nose. He laughed, thinking it was playful flirtatiousness, the vigour of the movement miscalculated. But Theodosia had managed to get an occasional table between her suitor and herself, and her expression was anything but tenderly yielding.

"Don't think I brought you here to compromise myself, my Lord." Theodosia's voice was crisp. "I merely took the chance to tell you once and for all to cease this nuisance. I shall no longer acknowledge you on the streets, and I will inform my brother that you are no longer welcome in my home if this nuisance persists."

"Thea! I thought you returned my regard." Henry did his best to arrange his face into an expression of injured heartbreak. "To think so ill of me, my darling." He reached out, but Theodosia snapped the fan out again. It was heavier than it looked, more a weapon than a tender thing of silk, and he yelped.

"I have no more love for you than you do for me. I assure you, my Lord, you have no attractions for me that overcome my own good sense and concern for my marriage prospects. You are merely making a mockery of yourself. Good night, my Lord." She had gained the door, and she opened it and clicked it decisively behind her.

Henry dithered. He detested the word, especially for a man of action like himself, but he positively dithered. Should he follow Theodosia out and plead for another chance? That would make a laughingstock of himself, and possibly people would think he was genuinely enamoured of a woman who, however lovely, was the daughter of a jumped-up family. The family that had ruined his own. Could he pretend that the seduction had been successful? Even worse. Theodosia had clearly been in the room with him less than five minutes, and heaven only knew what people would say about his stamina.

There was a snicker behind Henry, and he turned.

Theophile Yeatman. Of all people, it had to be Theodosia's brother. Yeatman was sitting back in an armchair with a book open on his lap, peering at Henry superciliously through a quizzing glass of all things.

"I suppose you have met your match at last, Acton. Thea is not one to choose male beauty over her future. You were like that at school, always convinced your good looks and charm would let you get away with playing the fool. Well, not this time."

Henry glared at him. The fit of whimsy that had led that hypocritical bastard Yeatman to name his twins Theodosia and Theophile was maddening. _Gift of God_ and _Loved by God_ , just the bastard piously pretended his fortune was the Almighty's reward for his virtue and not won by tricking and cheating his betters. Theodosia perhaps truly was a gift, beautiful enough that her wealth might make up for the family's lower origins, but where Thea was a curvaceous beauty with flashing black eyes, her brother was merely plump, with liquid long-lashed eyes that sat oddly on a man.

They had been friends, once. Yeatman had been likable enough at school, if a bit of a bookish do-gooder and useless at football or rackets. He had been awfully helpful at Latin. But they hadn't spoken for a year or two, and Yeatman had evidently taken a turn for the worse. That gaze through that damned glass was simply prudish.

"If you were not a fellow Old Wykehamist, I would demand satisfaction," Henry snarled. "You're not fit to polish my boots."

"Now, now, Manners Maketh Man," Yeatman said, with a lack of respect for College traditions that Henry would never suspect of a former Pre and Quirister. "Someone like you _would_ resort to violence, I suppose. A vicious unintellectual brute with no more intelligence than an animal, and no assets beyond your broad shoulders and your heavy prick."

There was a moment of shock before the anger flared. Surely this was not the Yeatman he remembered, pleasant and reliable, if straight-laced. To hear this crudity through his lips, while being stared at through a quizzing glass, was shocking. And from a member of the family that had wronged Henry's own. It unsettled him a little, as if the young man before him had become a stranger. It had somehow not occurred to him that the Yeatmans might hate the Actons as well. After all, the Yeatmans were the ones at fault.

That thought steeled his will. After all, it was because of the damned Yeatmans that Henry had no fortune, that Theodosia wore silver and rubies while Henry was in debt for the clothes on his back. He could meet crudity with crudity. "At least my prick, like my blood, is worth being proud of, especially when my noble blood fills it. Can you say the same?"

"Mine does its job when required," Yeatman said. Henry noticed that his tone was less certain, his quizzing glass had been dropped, and his hands were clasped awkwardly on his lap. Henry scented blood.

"Really? How many ladies have fallen prey to it? Fathered a horde of little bastards yet?"

Yeatman bit his lip, his conceited attitude entirely dropped.

Henry smirked, suddenly full of certainty. So, that was the hole in his armour. He should have known. Yeatman had always trailed behind the older Collegemen, eager for their attention. Always loved to watch the football, without playing much himself. "Not ladies, then. How many boys have sucked your so very functional prick in molly houses?"

Yeatman shifted uneasily. "I have no interest in youths."

Oh, this was even better. Henry took a slinking step forward, carefully channelling a mental image of a tiger moving on prey. "Your interest is in men, then? And do you do the sucking?"

Yeatman's rounded cheeks were flushing red, and he lifted a finger to his cravat, loosening it. Oh, his blushing was so very pretty. And so very comforting, after Theodosia had so utterly thwarted Henry's wiles.

He looked more carefully at Theophile Yeatman. Plump, yes. And his eyes were really quite lovely, without that ridiculous glass held to them. Yeatman's arms would be rounded, and if Henry remembered correctly, fuzzed with dark hair. He wore no wig or powder, and his wavy black hair would run through Henry's fingers like water. His chin was soft, with a certain fullness under it that would reward kissing and sucking on, and his mouth was fully as kissable, but, oh. There was faintest shadow of stubble. It would scrape against Henry's face.

He had never felt stubble against his lips and cheeks, and suddenly he felt an intense curiosity as to the sensation.

"That's it, isn't it? Well, there's no shame in being loved in the Italian fashion. So long as no one knows." Henry took another long step. Yeatman was staring at him as if hypnotised, and Henry's heart hammered in his chest.

This would be the perfect revenge. Better than ruining some innocent girl and risking a bastard. Old Yeatman would not be able to bear his only heir acting like some kind of catamite, clinging to his old enemy's son and being publicly rejected. A figure of fun. The humiliation would be complete, even more so than if Theodosia was ruined.

So what if the girl had been immune to his charms? Her twin was tasting his lips with his tongue, unconsciously. It was the perfect balm for Henry's nettle-stung ego.

He leaned down without preamble, took each of the lapels of Yeatman's high collar in his fists, and yanked him to his feet. The book slid to the floor with a bang that gave Henry a ridiculously fierce satisfaction. He smashed his lips against Yeatman's with none of the delicacy he would have shown his sister, a hard, demanding, closed-mouth kiss.

He expected to be pushed away. A pretence at denial. The dance of seduction.

Instead, Yeatman's jaw relaxed, his lips parted in a way that Henry's instinctively followed, and the soft, warm swipe of a tongue met Henry's own. It was unexpected and filthy and went straight to Henry's cock.

Yeatman pulled away and laughed. Supercilious again, as if Henry was some great jest.

"The infamous rake has never had a tongue in his mouth? Not so sophisticated after all. Your poor mistresses."

Henry wasn't blushing. He didn't blush. Not even when Yeatman raised a hand and caressed his jaw, lingering over its sharp lines.

"You beautiful, brainless boy," Yeatman said, very gently and almost lovingly. "You're good for nothing but fucking."

Henry twitched in his pantaloons. God in heaven, he had never imagined anyone, especially not Yeatman, talking to him like that. Making love was about whispered promises that weren't kept, coaxing, tenderness...

"Yeatman." He hated the way it came out. Too breathless, with a note of neediness he hoped by the Lord and all his angels wasn't as obvious as it sounded to him.

"If you're going to fuck me, then you will damn well call me Theo."

" _Theo_ ," said Henry, because right now he couldn't imagine anything he wanted more than to have him.

Theo rewarded him with another deep, obscene kiss, tongue sliding over his. Henry fought back, pushing his own tongue deep, and he heard muffled laughter as Theo yielded as if he had got exactly what he was trying for. _Bastard._ Theo wasn't supposed to be the one in control of the situation. He had to do something to regain the upper hand.

Henry turned on his heel, hands still tight on Theo's lapels, and pushed him against the bookshelf. That was more like it, covering Theo's form with his broad muscular weight, devouring his mouth. Theo made a surprised sound deep in his throat and flung his arms around Henry's neck. Triumph surged through Henry, and he thought dimly that he had never been so achingly hard in his life. He pushed his clothed erection against one plump thigh, desperate for friction, and felt Theo hard against his hip. _Mine_ , he thought triumphantly. Try being such a supercilious brat now.

He pulled away a little, trailed kisses on Theo's jaw. "I'm going to have you now," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm going to fuck you and you're going to be mine." He reached down and fumbled with the buttons on the flap at the front of Theo's pantaloons.

"And I thought you were a gentleman and a Collegeman," Theo said. He seemed like he was trying for his former mocking tone, but there was a giveaway shaking in his voice that made Henry's heart, and prick, exult. "No preparation?"

"I wasn't planning on this, you cur. But I'll prepare you." Henry dropped to his knees, eager to get on with things, and pulled Theophile's cock free. It sprang out, curving up and flushed red, the foreskin already drawing back, a drop of clear fluid at the tip. For a moment Henry was astounded, transported. He had never been so close to a cock that was not his own before, had no idea that it would radiate heat like that. He drew a curious finger up the ridge of the underside, hard and velvet-soft all at once, and felt something like possessiveness when Theo groaned. His finger continued upwards, traced the sensitive head, gathered the liquid and spread it. Theo was making desperately muffled sounds, and it filled Henry with a sense of power, as another drop formed.

Without thinking, Henry swiped his tongue to taste it. Bitter and salty, nothing pleasant about it really, but it sparked a terrible burning in his belly, a hunger in his mouth, an instinct to lean forward and feel his lips stretch around the silk-hard-hot cock in front of him, suck it as deep as he could into his mouth. This was perfect, this was right, this prick filling and stretching his mouth, his hands coming around to clasp full buttocks, urging Theo forward.

"Oh. Oh, _darling_ ," said Theo, and perhaps it was just words, perhaps he was thinking of someone else, but it pierced Henry straight through. He sucked strongly and wetly, once, twice, and pulled his mouth away so hard there was an audible sound as the cock released. He pulled Theo's pantaloons down, and thrust a finger from his other hand in his mouth. He looked up and held Theo's gaze as he and reached back, behind the high tight balls, to circle his wet finger at Theo's entrance.

" _Henry_ ," gasped Theo, and that was right, Theo was _his_ , he was only allowed to think of Henry and not some other lover. To reward him Henry leaned back in, swirled his tongue over the head of his cock, as his finger circled and pressed and touched inside. "Oh, Henry, darling."

Theo's hands were in his hair now, not pulling... caressing. And Henry remembered a day, a day when he was sixteen and hadn't made it to the First Eleven, and realised for the first time how impossible it was to find a private place at school. He had ended up in the water meadows, huddled under a bush where no one could see him cry.

Yeatman — Theo — had found him. He had not said a word about his shameful blubbering. He had stroked Henry's hair and sat with him, then handed him a clean handkerchief to dry his face. Henry had been so embarrassed afterwards that he hadn't spoken to the other boy except when necessary until they left school, and then, learning that he should hate the Yeatmans, had crushed the memory down.

He should have spoken to Theo. If he had spoken to him before his grandfather had taught him that the Yeatman family were responsible for all their wrongs, then perhaps he wouldn't be here now.

No. Perish the thought. No, Henry needed to be here now, with his finger pressing deeper, feeling the tight rim clutching it and the living heat behind. God. He was going to be in there. How would he even fit? Theo's entrance was like a vice around his finger. The vision entered his head of prodding the blunt head of his cock uselessly at that tight pucker, at Theo becoming frustrated and pushing at him, then laughing at him. He needed to get the other man wetter and more relaxed.

He released Theo's cock and looked up at him one more time. The man was flushed, lips parted, eyes screwed close, harsh breath making his plump chest rise and fall under his ballroom finery. Gorgeous, and so far away, tucked in his own world of pleasure. Henry felt a sudden piercing moment of loneliness. 

As if hearing him, Henry's eyes fluttered open. Lord, they were beautiful. So dark and so intense, looking down at him as if Henry was something marvellous and precious, not a rake ruining him in someone else's library, finger in the most obscene of places. "Go ahead, love. Anything you want." 

Henry grasped one of Theo's lovely thick thighs and encouraged it up over his shoulder, so Theo was more exposed, all the dark curling hair and his wonderful bollocks and behind that, the obscene sight of his own finger penetrating the man in the most forbidden place. _His_. All parts of the man left exposed. Not so damnably calm and collected now, gasping and desperate with his cock red and dripping and wanting, a finger probing deep in his arse.

Henry leaned down and forward and up, gathered all the wetness he could in his mouth, and let his tongue dance around where his finger penetrated.

"Damn, damn, damn," Theo was chanting under his breath. Yes, that was it, Theo's smugness was completely broken, he had been undone by a mouth. Just as Henry wanted. He gathered more saliva, swirled his tongue, pressed another finger inside and circled them. Then he pulled his fingers free and licked inside deeply, wetly, luxuriously.

" _Henry_." Theo's voice was broken. Still quiet. Henry wanted him to shout his name, wanted the sounds to penetrate to the ballgoers beyond, wanted them to come and see Theophile Yeatman helpless at the mercy of another man. He clambered to his feet, knocking Theophile's thigh carelessly away.

" _Henry._ " Now the tone was different, passionate, almost tender. Theo's lips were on his jaw, his ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses. Theo's hands were fumbling at Henry's cravat. The neckcloth felt too tight and hot in any case, so Henry removed the brooch himself, let Theo unwind the silk and drop it to the floor, let Theo leave biting desperate kisses against his neck.

God, his neck felt as sensitive as it had been his cock Theo was kissing and biting. Henry had been so caught up in pleasuring the other man that he had neglected himself, but his prick was twitching and wet, desperate to be relieved. He unbuttoned the flaps of his pantaloons.

"Turn around," he said, the words formed with effort, as if his mouth had forgotten it was made for anything but love. "I'm going to have you now." He meant it to come out threateningly, but it was more of a tender whisper, with a giveaway tremor of excitement.

Theo turned immediately and braced himself against the bookshelf, arms and legs splayed wide to give himself stability, arse shoved shamelessly out. And, devil take it, it was a beautiful arse, brown and full and dimpled, begging to be cupped and squeezed and caressed and fucked, and oh God, Henry was truly going to fuck him, here in the library, with the dancers and revellers nearby.

He spat on his hand and slicked his cock as best he could, and pressed against that rim, one hand aiming himself, the other holding Theo's waist.

For a moment he thought his preparations would be in vain, that it was too tight. Then the head of his cock slipped inside and he held himself still, trying desperately not to come at the clench and heat pulsing around him, at the quiet deep groan pulled from Theo. Henry screwed his eyes tight, but there was nothing but the heat and pulse and knowledge of what he was doing. The effort of wrenching himself back from the edge of climax was making him light-headed. He clutched his hand painfully around the base of his cock, fighting the climax back.

"For God's sake, man, put your back into it," Theo said almost peevishly, and Henry released his grip and thrust home.

The glorious drag of it was like nothing he had imagined, and to his horror, his breath came out something like a sob. He pulled back, feeling every excruciatingly blissful fraction of motion, and snapped his hips forward again.

Theo made a wordless sound, his head flung back, teeth gritted in pain or pleasure. God, he was beautiful, he was magnificent. How could Henry have ever thought Theo the less attractive of the twins? He was luscious, he was perfect, and Henry thought that he could not stop his thrusts if the world depended on it, if a pistol was held to his head and a blade to his neck he would keep fucking, keep brokenly murmuring _Theo, Theo, dear, darling love_ in his ear as he fucked and fucked and fucked.

"Wait," Theo said. And it turned out he could stop after all. Theo's voice held him in thrall, even though Henry snarled in frustration as his hips stilled.

"What? Now?"

"If you want to spill inside me, then I want to see your face when you do so."

Henry nearly did spill at the words. What kind of dissolute devil was this prudish young man, anyway? Henry pushed himself away and out, nearly weeping at the lack of contact.

Theo took one of the hands-on his hips and raised it to his mouth, kissed it tenderly, as if in thanks. Then he wordlessly slipped away and removed his pantaloons properly. He seated himself on a desk, leaning back and bending his stockinged knees to bare thighs and exposing himself, erect and open from fucking.

"Satan and all his devils, you're beautiful," Henry said, the words spilling out, and came forward to clasp Theo against his chest and thrust deep again.

It wouldn't take long, Henry realised, not with the awareness of Theo's dripping prick pressed against the band of his own pantaloons. But he would make it good, oh, he would make it good, would fuck Theo as no one ever had before, make him forget everyone who gave him this surprisingly sophisticated knowledge of sodomy, would make him want no one else's cock. He would be _Henry's._ Henry rained possessive kisses on his cheeks and lips and chin, holding him close and thrusting with all his strength. _Put your back into it_. Condescending bastard. Well, he would.

" _Darling_ ," Theo said again, and that was it, that was too much, the heat curled in his belly gathered suddenly and he was spurting inside, pushing his hips as hard as he could in the last few moments, trying to fuck his own seed deeper inside.

With the last juddering shudder he half-collapsed against the table, clasping Theo as tightly as he could as he softened and slipped free. An answering embrace came fiercely around him as Theo stopped bracing himself on the desk and wrapped his arms right around him.

"It's all right, darling, it's all right." It took Henry a moment to realise he wasn't the one soothing the other, a mortifying moment longer to realise he was in tears. He had just fucked another man senseless, he shouldn't be the one crying. "I have you, my love. It's all right."

"I'm sorry. Your sister didn't do anything wrong."

"I know. Neither did your father, but my father ruined his fortune for what your grandfather did to _his_ sister. But it's all right, isn't it? You didn't hurt Thea, and you won't now. Nothing to regret." Theo's voice was gentle and firm, and Henry leaned into the embrace, into the heavy comfort of him, the feeling that he didn't have to think anymore, Theo would do it for him. Clever, kind Theo. "You're mine now, you beautiful thing. No more of this ruining nonsense or I will be very displeased."

The sounds of the ball were coming back to Henry's senses, and oh, what the hell had he just done? A dalliance with a lady was one thing, but to be found in the arms of another man was another. Especially to be found weeping in another man's arms with his prick soft and his pantaloons flapping. He had to leave. He started to pull away, and Theo groaned, sending a bolt of awareness to Henry's muddled brain.

"Theo. You haven't..."

Theo leaned back and gave him an impish smile. "I can take care of myself." He reached down and grasped himself, gave himself two twisting pumps, and spurted his spendings all over Henry's waistcoat.

The sight was so wonderful, so deeply arousing and filthy that it took Henry a moment to realise what had just happened. By the time the implications hit him, Theo was several places away, already reaching behind his own bollocks and meticulously wiping himself clean with a cloth.

"Theo! What in the devil's name did you mean by that? I'm a mess."

Theo grinned at him. "Here. Clean yourself up, if you can." He crumpled the silk he was using and tossed it to Henry, and oh by God's teeth it was Henry's cravat, smeared and spoiled with his own spendings.

Henry clenched the neckcloth in his hands, and before he could fully recover, Theo had stepped pack into his pantaloons and fastened them, and gained the door. He even lifted that damn quizzing glass again, surveying the mess he had made and smiling with prim satisfaction.

"Believe it or not, my Lord, It truly do have a deep affection for you, whatever I may have said. Give my regards to your grandfather."

The door closed behind him, and Henry was left in the library, covered with another man's spendings and clutching his semen-covered cravat.

He could hear the music and laughter from the ball. What the hell had he done?

* * *

It had been a full week and Henry still couldn't bear to leave his lodgings. He kept to his bed and pretended sick headaches. He was sure he would be a laughing stock across London by now. What on earth would that demon Yeatman have spread about him? Henry should never have trusted any of that cursed Yeatman family.

_I have you, my love._

Every time his humiliation faded a little, Henry would catch himself with ridiculous hope. He had bribed his way out through the servants' quarters. Maybe they had been true to his request for discretion. Maybe he wouldn't be blackmailed out of every penny he didn't have. Maybe Theo had stayed true... No. The thing had been a trap. A punishment. No matter how much Theo had enjoyed it.

_You're mine, you beautiful thing._

Theo, his breath hissing between his teeth as he was fucked. Theo, holding him close. Theo, with his damned quizzing glass and irritating manner. Theo, his face twisted in pleasure as he spilled.

Every kind of cad, and Henry couldn't stop thinking of him.

_I truly do have a deep affection for you._

How could he hate the man so much, and still find himself fucking his fist at the thought of him? Still find that he had memorised the sweep of his eyelashes and every tone of his voice?

Well, Henry wasn't a complete idiot, whatever Theo had said. He recognised that he was hopelessly besotted, and that he would forgive Theo anything for one more kiss. He understood his love was hopeless, that Theo had defeated him, and that he had lost the war between the Actons and the Yeatmans for good. He understood his own complete defeat and abjection. Despite everything, he craved. Damn it all, he craved even being looked at like an insect through that infernal quizzing glass, if he could see Theo again.

"A letter, sir. And a rose." Jacques, his valet, deposited both gently on the bedside table.

Henry couldn't stop the fluttering of his heart, although he told himself it was with the fear of blackmail. He cut open the seal, and read the note.

> My dearest friend Henry,
> 
> I was delighted to renew my acquaintance with a fellow Scholar I always respected and liked. I hope you will forgive a certain amount of banter and teasing, on the strength of the deep and abiding affection with which I hold you. Please forgive me. If you wish to dine at my club this evening, I should be glad of your company. Remember, the best revenge is a happy life, and not letting the sins of our forefathers ruin our chances of happiness.
> 
> With all my love,
> 
> your devoted Theophile
> 
> P.S. I look forward to your cravat.

For a moment, Henry let himself fantasise that here was revenge at last. He would leave that damned Yeatman waiting. He would flaunt romances with lovely and eligible ladies in his face. He would let him suffer.

He picked up the rose, and inhaled it, velvet sweet. It smelled of happiness. He fingered the petals, bruising them, thinking of stubble, of a maddeningly arrogant smile under a quizzing glass, of taunts and strange softness.

The sins of the fathers belonged in hell with them, not with their children.

Henry rang for Jacques to help him dress. "I'll have my cravat tied in the Osbaldestone fashion, I think," he instructed. "No brooch."

He had no intention of losing another brooch on another library floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for this request! I hope you enjoyed it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
